Scandal's Daughter
by Eclectic Butterfly
Summary: 1902: Serena Norton has had no word from her parents. What's a just turned fourteen year old girl to do? Rely on her wits? Or track down Sherlock Holmes? Why not give both a try?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: In no way do I own Sherlock Holmes, or any other recognizable characters from within.**

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><p><strong>1902<strong>

**"**What will your parents say? Whatever could have possessed you act in such a manner? Not only did you follow a strange man around town, when you're found out, you accuse him of being a murderer! I've never heard of such a thing! These are the actions of a child, not a young lady of fourteen!"

Looking out the window at the passing scenery, I couldn't help but be amused. She did have a point: accusing Mr. John Simmons of being a murderer without having definite proof was not the smartest thing I had ever done. In my defense, I had not expected him to have seen me and reported me to Miss Reynolds.

"Serena Mary Norton! Are you even listening to me?"

"Of course I am, Mrs. Leigh," I responded turning fro the window with a smile. "You have said 'what will your parents say?' five times in the past hour alone now. And you have been repeating yourself the whole way. I have tried to be penitent, but I must know. Will I ever be forgiven?"

Mrs. Leigh scowled at me. "You have been sent home from school mid-term, young miss," she scolded sternly. She took her fan out and waved it rapidly. "What would you have done if the mistress hadn't told me to keep track of anything from the school?" She paused, a look of horror on her face.

I laughed out loud. "Exactly so," I responded, and I'm sure my brown eyes were sparkling with mischief. "I would have found a way to come home on my own."

You are out of line, Miss!" Mrs. Leigh protested. "Even in America, such conduct would have been frowned upon! Your mother and father expect you to behave as a lady should! You are not a child anymore, to be humored and amused by. This independent spirit you show is most unbecoming."

I shook her head, smiling fondly. "I don't quite agree with you," I answered, looking out the window once more. "My parents have always encouraged me to use my mind."

"Well, even they would not condone the actions that led to you being sent home," Mrs. Leigh told her sharply. "And you can be sure I will be showing them all of the headmistress' letters when they return."

In an instant, I was serious. "So there has been no word from them?"

Mrs. Leigh sighed and, out of the corner of my eye I saw her brush at some unseen dirt on her black dress. She closed her fan with a snap. "No," she answered. "I have kept the house in readiness just in case they should make a sudden return, as they have done in the past."

"Two months is a very long time!" I objected passionately, clenching my hands into fists on my lap. "There has been no letters or messages! I know something must have happened to them!"

"Oh, don't fret, Miss Serena," Mrs. Leigh advised, her tone softening. "I'm sure they are both preoccupied with your mother's tour."

"I highly doubt a person as practical and cautious as my father would forget his only child," I responded softly. I shook her head as the train began to slow. "Now that I am home, I will find the list of homes Mother was going to and write them all to see what I can find."

Mrs. Leigh's eyes narrowed. "Am I to understand that you purposely got yourself sent home?" she demanded, leaning forward.

"Of course not!" I exclaimed. I paused to consider the suggestion and then shook my head. "No, it would have been too involved. I saw that man hanging around the school and decided to follow him to verify my theory. I know he is a murderer, Mrs. Leigh! However, I never found the proof or who he killed. It will weigh on my mind now."

Getting to her feet, Mrs. Leigh shook her head. "You are impossible. And it comes from reading the stories in that magazine," she chided. She reached up and began to bring the luggage down. "At least now that you're home, I can keep my eye on you."

Laughing, I rose and helped with the luggage. I followed Mrs. Leigh off the train and into the small, village train station. "Now, I sent word that we would be arriving at this time," the older woman said, glancing around. "Martin should be here. The train was not running late."

"Then, we will simply have to hire a hack and continue on to Lynbrook Manor," I told her practically. "It can't be very difficult."

"Patience, Miss Serena. I'm sure he'll come," Mrs. Leigh advised. After a moment, she heaved a weary sigh. "It has been a long journey, though, and I am ready for my own domain. Stay here with the luggage and I will see if there is something that can be arranged."

Obediently, I set my own bags next to Mrs. Leigh's and stood beside to them. As I watched my family's housekeeper hurry away, I was struck by how grey her brown hair was getting. She had been with my mother for over twenty years now, which is why she scolded me so.

Shaking my head, I turned my attention to the train platform. Only a handful of people had got off at this stop, and most had already left the train station. There were, however, two men leaning against the train station wall. Both seemed extremely well dressed for the area. The one's hair was black and his eyes were an ice blue. The other was tall and going bald.

Both seemed to be watching me. I lifted her chin, instantly suspicious of them. Smiling in amusement, the tall man moved towards me. "Come, Miss Serena," Mrs. Leigh called out. In public ear, she was always took care to address me properly.

Swiftly, I bent to grab all the bags. "Here, Miss," the man said, approaching quickly. He bent next to me. "Allow me."

"No, I'll help the young miss," the short man objected, hurrying over.

It seemed like the two were about to exchange blows. "No, it's not necessary for either of you to help me," I answered. With two handles in each hand, I jerked away from them. Up close, they both had a certain kind of slyness that unsettled me and I decided I really didn't trust them. "I have it."

A smirk on his face, the tall man stepped back and made a half bow. The other man scowled at me. Spinning on my heel, I walked very quickly to the edge of the platform where Mrs. Leigh waited. "Who was that man?" the woman asked, reaching for her bags. "You should have let him carry the bags. You always seem to forget your position."

"No, it's fine," I responded, glancing back. Neither of the two were not in sight. "I did not like the looks of them."

At that moment, the newly hired hack came to a stop in front of us. It was little more than a farm wagon with a very old nag in the harness. A young boy of maybe sixteen, who was evidently our driver for the trip, came forward to load our bags and help us up.

Mrs. Leigh started to turn around. Dropping my bag, I quickly caught the woman's arm. "Oh, no, Mrs. Leigh!" I admonished, my tone firm. "We aren't turning back now. It's only a few miles to the manor and you are anxious to get back to your kitchen, remember?"

"In that death trap, we will never make it!" Mrs. Leigh prophesied, reluctantly allowing the boy to take her bags. "And we'll in the cold the whole way! If we don't get killed in that thing, we'll be sure to catch our death from pneumonia."

"Nonsense!" I declared merrily.

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><p>Though it was moving very slowly, the wagon managed to bounce and jostle us all the way to Lynbrook Manor. "See, Mrs. Leigh?" I called out, hanging onto the side. "This 'death trap' has brought us nearly there. Just around this curve and we will see it."<p>

"And I will never walk straight again," Mrs. Leigh fired back, quite annoyed.

Slowly, the wagon creaked around the curve and Lynbrook Manor was in view. It was a stately home, not very large but not small either. I on seeing it, but then noticed something very strange. "The windows have been broken out!" I exclaimed in horror.

"Good heavens!" Mrs. Leigh gasped.

As soon as the hack came to a stop, I jumped to the ground. Mrs. Leigh also climbed down without waiting for assistance. Staring up at the building in shock, I picked up my skirts and hurried for the door.

"Serena!" Mrs. Leigh called out, apprehensively. "You don't know if the fiends are still here!"

"Leigh!" I shouted, ignoring her. "Leigh?"

The front door opened and a familiar figure appeared. Relieved, I launched myself at the gray haired man who stepped out. "Miss Serena!" he said, showing some surprise as I wrapped my arms around his neck. He stiffly returned the embrace as his wife approached. "If I had known you were returning, I would have come to fetch you."

"I sent a telegram," Mrs. Leigh said in protest. She latched onto the same bit of information that I did. "And what do you mean _you_ would have come to get us? Where is Martin?"

Leigh's face grew even more rigid as I stepped back. "Gone, Mrs. Leigh," the butler said gravely. "And if he is caught, he will be arrested for the vandalism of the manor."

"Martin, our groom, did this?" I asked, gesturing at the broken windows. "Why?"

Our driver cleared his throat behind us. "I will explain inside," Leigh said. He went to pay the boy and collect the bags.

"Well, let's see what the damage is, Mrs. Leigh," I said, turning my attention to the front door. Taking a deep breath, I went up the steps. Even though Lynbrook Manor has been my home for only a year now, the destruction that had been exacted on it shocked and upset me. "Why would someone do this?"

From where I stood, the destruction was massive. Chairs and tables overturned. Papers strewn about. The beautiful tapestries that hung on the wall slashed. It was apparent Leigh had already attempted to clean up the mess, but not much had been done.

"When did this happen?" I demanded, spinning around to face the butler. "Where is everyone else?"

"Gone, Miss," Leigh responded, setting the bags down. "For the past three nights, someone has broken in and caused more damage. Martin had left the day before, and the maids and grooms all gave leave yesterday. I have not yet been able to engage replacements."

Disbelieving, I shook her head. "How come you didn't wake and catch the fiends?" Mrs. Leigh demanded.

"And you have been trying to clean up alone?" I added, raising my eyebrows at him. "Really, Leigh. You should have gotten some help first."

"I've done as I saw fit, Miss Serena," Leigh responded stiffly.

"Yes, yes, of course you have," I said, turning around in the room. "Well, it's a good thing Mrs. Leigh and I are here now. Mrs. Leigh, if you will be good enough to help your husband with the cleaning up, I'll see if any of my mother's jewels or my father's papers have been taken."

Mrs. Leigh nodded vigorously. "That I will, Miss Serena," she replied. "We'll have things put right before nightfall."

Fondly, I nodded and started for the staircase. Behind me, Mrs. Leigh began issuing sharp demands to her husband. I smiled in amusement as I made her way to my father's library. I was dismayed to find books torn and ripped, with paper all over the floor.

"This is going to take a while," I said out loud. Kneeling, I began to sort through the mess.

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><p><strong>AN: Welcome to the first part of my tale! Don't worry, Holmes will be making an appearance soon enough. In the meantime, let me know what you think so far!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I still do not own Sherlock Holmes.**

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><p>A distant bang woke me that night. Blinking sleepily, I lifted myself up in my bed. As I listened, another, softer, thud came moments later. Now completely awake, I scrambled to my feet. I shivered and wrapped a blanket around my shoulders. The fire that had been blazing in my room when I had gone to sleep had gone out.<p>

Moving quietly, I made my way to the door. I stepped out into the hallway. Everything was dark. Again, I heard the sound of something falling. This time, the sound was followed by a man's voice. Though I listened carefully, I couldn't hear the words, but the man's tone was definitely angry.

"How can Leigh not hear this?" I whispered to myself. Shaking my head in puzzlement, I hurried towards the library. Even wrapped in the thick blanket, I shivered in the cold. Leigh had not been able to complete boarding up each broken window, so the cold winter wind blew right through.

A light shone underneath the library door. I crept up to it and peeked through the ajar door. A man's back was to me. Where I had cleaned up was once again strewn with papers. The man tossed a book to the floor, causing another thud. "I told you to stop that!" a second man hissed.

"No one's going to hear us," the first man answered. And then, I knew: it was the tall man from the train station. "Let's just finish the job."

Drawing back, I took a deep breath, trying to get my bearings. Whoever these men were, they definitely no one I should take on alone. I leaned forward again, drawn by the fact that more light was shining through. There came a sharp cracking noise, and smoke rolled out from under the door.

Gasping, I stared at the fire that was in the middle of the room. As fast as I could, I ran past the library to the stairs. Barely moments later, the two men came out and headed up. Towards my room. It was clear I needed help, so I kept going towards the lower levels of the house.

I easily wound my way through the darkness, every detail of the house memorized. I found the door to the Leighs' room and knocked loudly. "Mrs. Leigh? Leigh?" I called out, fear making my voice tremble.

Deep snores came from within. Praying that I wouldn't regret it, I grasped the knob and turned it. I pushed the door open, flinching at the loud creak it made. I wanted them up, so I didn't worry too much about the noise, only prayed the intruders above stairs wouldn't hear. The Leighs' were asleep in their bed. Their fire had also died down.

"Mrs. Leigh!" I shouted, hurrying to the bed. I shook the housekeeper's arm. "Mrs. Leigh, wake up!"

The woman mumbled something and rolled over. Horrified, I scrambled around the bed and shook Leigh's arm. "Leigh, wake up!" I pleaded as I got no reaction from the man. Something was very wrong here and, puzzled, I backed away. There was nothing I could do except save my home, so I ran out.

It didn't matter if I made any noise now. All that mattered was getting something to quench the fire. I banged through to the kitchen, searching for the pail that hung beside the old fashioned pump. Hastily, I filled the pail with water, letting the blanket drop to the floor.

Turning, I made my way back to the library, where the fire was growing in strength and size. I flung my bucket of water at the fire. The flames hissed, shrank back, and then flared up again. I recoiled instinctively, staring at the inferno in horror. What was I going to do now?

Somebody pushed roughly past me. I caught myself on the door frame as a man, most definitely not Leigh, tore a drape from the window and beat at the flames. "Get more water!" he snapped, glancing back at me. It was the second, shorter man from the train station.

At least he was here to help, it seemed. Nodding, I scrambled back down to the kitchen and hauled another bucket of water up. The stranger had beaten the fire back to a more manageable state. I dumped my bucket water on top, and it fizzled out of existence.

"There," the man said, satisfaction in his voice. The room was once again dark. "Stay here, Miss Norton. I'll be right back."

Astonished, I watched his black form rush out. I trailed him to the library door and peered up the dark stairs. I heard him run up the steps and then down the hallway to my room. I smirked as I heard him curse and then he returned much slower than he'd gone.

"Are you alright, Miss Norton?" he asked.

"Yes," I answered, shivering. Wet feet and a wet nightgown made me even colder in the cold air. Despite this, I was very annoyed. As I've been told a good defense is a good offense, I demanded, "Who are you? How do you know my name? How did you get in here?"

"You may call me Johns," the man answered. In the dim moonlight, I saw him turn in a circle, taking in the destruction that the shadows just barely disguised. "The door was left open by those two who started this. As to knowing your name, I was sent to keep you safe, Miss Norton."

Rubbing my arms, I shook my head. "Why should I believe you?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Johns answered. "Your home has been vandalized and just barely escaped destruction. Do you think it's just a coincidence?"

"I acknowledge the fact that my home is not safe," I responded, primly. "However, I fail to see what that has to do with me. And when I asked why I should believe you, I was referring to why I should believe that you are here to keep me safe. For all I know, you could have been with those two men and are merely trying to trick me into putting confidence and trust in you."

Johns was silent for several long moments. "You are quite the young skeptic, aren't you," he finally commented.

"As my mother has told me: it's wonderful to believe the best of people, but sometimes, it's smarter to doubt every word," I answered. I've gotten some lovely words of wisdom from both my parents on the subject of trusting people.

"Will it satisfy you if I have my employer send a reference?"

Seriously, I considered that. "If it is accompanied by an explanation, then yes, I would be satisfied," I replied, with a sigh. "I don't understand why the Leighs didn't wake up."

"I suspect their nightly drink has been drugged," Johns responded, moving towards the door. "Your butler and housekeeper will remain asleep until tomorrow. However, the men won't return again tonight, so you have no reason to fear. I will return at dawn."

With those final words, the man left. I followed him down to the front door, taking care to bolt it shut securely behind him. Finding a candle in its normal place on a side table, I lit it and made her way back to the library to take stock of the damage.

The middle of the room was the worst. The desk where the fire had started was charred. The books I had so carefully put into place were again on the floor. "Oh, Papa," I said wearily. Though I would never have admitted it out loud, the man's words had left me unnerved.

I sank to the floor, leaning against the wall, and stayed like that for several minutes before I shook my head. "All right," I decided, straightening up. I rubbed my fingers together to get some feeling back in them. "I need to figure out what I'm going to do.

"I need to consult the facts I know," I went on. "One: someone has repeatedly drugged Leigh and searched everywhere in this house; two: those same men just tried to destroy Lynbrook Manor. So the logical conclusion is that they found what they were looking for."

I stood up and frowned at the shadows. "Which also points to another fact. Since my father had something they wanted and they came here searching, there is now the possibility of those men having my parents. And that would explain why I have not heard from my parents."

Going to the broken window, I looked out at the moonlight lawn. "Why wait two months, though?" I wondered. I shook her head. "I am not qualified to work through this!" I exclaimed in frustration. And an instant later, I had my answer. "But I know who could!"

Only...a mere telegram from a fourteen year old would hardly bring anyone out of the city. There was one option left for me, and I knew I had to take the chance.

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><p>Fired with determination, I hurried up to my bedroom. There, I found that it had been destroyed as the rest of the house had. It only reinforced the feeling of not being safe that I now had. It was clear: I had to leave Lynbrook Manor before those men tried again.<p>

I searched through her wardrobe for her simplest dress. Finding the black dress I'd only worn to my great-aunt's funeral in New York, I slipped it on and twisted my hair into a chignon. I pined my simplest hat on and dragged out my carpetbag to fill it with the barest essentials.

From my desk, I located what little of my allowance I'd managed to save up. It wasn't much, but hopefully enough to get where I needed to go. Picking up my candle in my right hand, and my bag in the left, I left my bedroom and went downstairs. I set the candle on the sideboard, and scrawled a quick note to the Leighs':

_"Don't worry. I've gone to get help. I will be back as soon as I can._

_Serena"_

Blowing out the candle, I walked to the front door and unbolted it. Slipping out, I shut the door behind myself. Carpetbag in hand, I took a deep breath and set off down the lane.

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><p>It was early morning when I reached my destination: London. Dressed as plainly as I was, no one seemed to take much notice of me. Thankfully, the ticket master hadn't recognized me as the daughter of the Nortons of Lynbrook Manor. I'd made the journey without incident.<p>

Amidst the crowd, I made my way out of the busy train station. I adjusted my hat with one hand and tightened my grip on my bag in the other. I set off in a random direction to avoid getting noticed. The weather was cold and damp, making me glad I'd thought to find my oldest yet warmest coat.

At a street corner, I willingly spent one of my coins on a newspaper. I managed to glance through the news, all the while walking down the street and keeping a tight grip on my bag. One notice caught my eye almost immediately:

Wanted: Maid for temporary position. Apply 221 Baker Street.

Folding up the paper and filing that information in my mind, I smiled and stepped to the curb. I raised my hand to a passing cab and the driver stopped. I gave him the address I wanted and sat back to enjoy the ride. I spent the trip curiously watching the passing buildings and people.

In no time at all, the cab pulled up in front of the requested address. Stepping out, I paid the man and regarded the structure critically. On the outside, it appeared a normal residence, but inside lived one of the greatest minds of the nineteenth century. And the only man I would trust to help me.

Swiftly, I dodged my way across the street. I rang the doorbell and waited. After a minute, I knocked firmly on the door. Several minutes passed and just as I was about to give up and leave, I heard slow clumping. The door opened to reveal a grey haired, tiny woman.

"Oh, ma'am!" I exclaimed before she could say a word. I'd seen the bandages wrapped around the woman's left ankle. "You shouldn't be on that foot!"

Despite the pain that creased her forehead, Mrs. Hudson looked me over, taking in my plain clothes and the carpetbag I held. "You're here about the position?" she asked.

"Oh, no," I answered swiftly, though the idea amused me. "I'm here to see Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

She was already shaking her head. "I'm sorry, Miss," she said kindly. "Mr. Holmes is away at the moment. If you'll leave your card...?"

"No, I'll just come back," I responded in disappointment. She smiled once more and closed the door. Heaving a sigh, I turned and considered what I should do. Clearly, I would now have to find a way to stay out of sight in London for an unknown amount of time.

My first impulse was to find my mother's house here in town, Briony Lodge. My mother kept it for sentimental reasons, I think, because we'd never once gone there. In fact, she avoided London most of the time. Father had brought me a few times, but was always anxious to return to my mother.

But, whoever threatened my family would know of the Lodge. I considered my options as I walked along the sidewalk.

Both of my parents had been only children, so I had no family to turn to. I knew none of my father's colleagues and my father had cared for all legal matters, excluding a kindly old solicitor most heroines turned to in novels. I was going to have to go this alone.

I couldn't go to any hotel since I was only fourteen and, in any event, I would have been easily found out there. I had only a limited supply of funds that would hardly last me long enough and returning to Lynbrook Manor was a choice I was determined not to make.

With a sigh, I resigned myself to finding a position. Even with this decision, my options were limited. I was far to young to be a governess. I did not know how to type. While I could apply to be a clerk in a store, I would be in a public area and perhaps be seen by someone that would not have good intentions for me.

I was left with only one option: becoming a housemaid.


	3. Chapter 3

As it turns out, it is easy to become a maid and not so easy to actually be a maid. With the notices in my hand, I set off to find myself a place. As Mrs. Hudson's reaction to me earlier that day had proven, I was capable of looking the part. Despite my lack of references, I was hired at the first home I visited. I gave my name as Mary Leigh. Only someone who knew me would discover me behind that name.

My work began immediately. That first day, I dusted and polished every inch of woodwork in that home! In between, I hauled hot water up and dirty water down the stairs. I even had the chore of emptying the chamber pots, an extremely nauseating job I hope never to perform again!

What followed was an excruciatingly long week. I vowed to never again take for granted anyone who worked for me, but especially my much loved Mrs. Leigh! I'd truly never considered the work that servants had done for me and my parents. It was a humbling consideration.

I was exhausted when I collapsed onto my bed that, and every other, night. My determination to seek out my parents had not diminished, so when I was sent to the market for some fresh fish early the second morning, I made a detour to the telegraph office. I sent out ten telegrams, seriously depleting my funds. I made arrangements to return for any responses, giving the name of Mary Leigh.

Also, I sent a message to the Leighs' to assure them I was fine. Just to be cautious, I chose not tell them where I was or what I was doing.

I learned nothing that week save that a maid is a resilient person. I'd received no responses to my messages; obviously, they had not been regarded as important. And I was finding myself the recipient of some unwanted attention from the oldest boy of the house.

Tired, and more than a little homesick, I made my way once again to Baker Street on my first day off. This time, I knew to wait for the housekeeper.

She seemed as weary as I felt. "Are you here for the position?"

On the verge of denying this and explaining the situation, I paused. If I was to be a maid while waiting, what better place to wait than here? And where else would I be safer than in the home of the famous Mr. Sherlock Holmes? "Yes, ma'am," I said, striving for a meek tone. "My name is Mary Leigh. I'd half expected the position to be gone by now."

"I am Mrs. Hudson. You're American, aren't you?" Mrs. Hudson asked, turning and allowing me in. She limped along the hallway, leading the way to the kitchen. There, she sank gratefully into a chair and motioned around the kitchen. "If you would be so kind?"

"My mother was American," I admitted, taking off my hat and coat. I set these articles aside and started searching for what I needed in the cupboards. My maid persona was already firmly in mind. "I must tell you I've only been in a position of this sort once before."

Mrs. Hudson nodded once, her manner cold and distant. "You do understand this is temporary?" she asked. She nodded at her ankle. "Dr. Watson says a month or two of rest is necessary before I can do everything that I normally do."

"A bad fall, was it?" I asked, reaching for the already hot kettle.

"Quite a bad fall," Mrs. Hudson answered, watching my every move carefully. "And here I am with boarders to take care of. Goodness knows, Mr. Holmes needs every bit of looking after as I can-." She broke off suddenly, looking guilty. "Never mind that."

Amused, I poured the tea. "Milk or sugar?" I asked. She declined both, so I handed the housekeeper a cup and took a seat opposite her. "Although I have no references, I assure you I am a hard worker, Mrs. Hudson. If you wish, there can be a trial of a week or two."

Seriously, Mrs. Hudson sipped her tea. "Mind, if you're caught running to the papers with tales of Mr. Holmes, you will be turned off," the woman warned.

"Naturally!" I responded, successfully getting a tone of haughtiness. "What the great detective does is of no concern to anyone but himself, and his clients. Am I to assume that I'm hired then?"

For the first time, the housekeeper smiled. "A trial," she answered. "It has been quite the experience locating a maid."

Delighted, I set my cup down. "I can imagine that would be true if most of the applicants were only interested in being close to Mr. Holmes," I stated, smiling as Mrs. Hudson's face betrayed surprise. "It's not very hard to guess. You let slip just enough to tempt any gossiper and, coupled with the warning, what other conclusion would I come to?"

"You're right," Mrs. Hudson acknowledged. "The only other one who didn't try to get more information from me on the subject was a poor simple girl who broke four of my tea cups." She frowned at me. "Don't expect that you'll be trying to match wits with Mr. Sherlock when he's here. You may be bright enough, but he has no time to be concerned with-."

"Ma'am, I assure you, I have no interest in trying to out think Mr. Holmes," I interrupted firmly. The possibility of having a match of wits with the great man settled in my mind, though. It was certainly something my mother would have encouraged me to try.

Satisfied, Mrs. Hudson nodded and stood up. "I'll show you to your room," she said, "and then acquaint you with your duties."

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><p>The housekeeper at my first house didn't look surprised when I told her I wouldn't be returning. My new housemaid duties began the very next morning at 6 o'clock promptly. I began by making tea for Mrs. Hudson. I took hot water up to Apartment A for Colonel Forest. I helped Mrs. Hudson prepare breakfast for her tenant, and then I took it up to the colonel.<p>

I'd managed to learn that Mrs. Hudson didn't know when the detective and his companion would return. So, on the one hand, I was glad I had a place to stay, safe from whatever mysterious persons who meant me harm. Still, I could not wait for when I could drop the role I was playing.

Colonel Forest was, at first, an amusing old gentleman. He related some war tale every time I brought him tea. Then, I realized just how much he resented his neighbor, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and the visitors that came at all hours of the night. I also discovered he was a very particular person, and I had to be careful of how I cleaned in his rooms.

While I had to perform many of the same duties as my first position, I found this one to be much more enjoyable. Mrs. Hudson seemed to take me on a sort of adopted granddaughter.

On the morning of the third day, Mrs. Hudson sighed in resignation. "The pair of them are sure to return any moment now. Mr. Holmes' rooms need cleaning, Mary," the housekeeper said. "While Mr. Holmes won't notice the dust, Dr. Watson will. Be sure you don't move a single paper. That, Mr. Holmes would notice."

"Would he?"

"And a right fuss he'd make over it," Mrs. Hudson verified. "So just do what you can without moving a thing."

I nodded and set off to do my job. I went up the stairs, my cleaning supplies in the one hand and all of Mr. Holmes' and Dr. Watson's correspondence in the other. I paused outside the door leading to their rooms. This would be my first time entering, and I was feeling a little excited.

I, Serena Mary Norton, was about to enter the domain of the world's only consulting detective.

My rational mind reasserted itself within moments, and I shook my head. "Stop being an excitable girl and do your job," I ordered myself. I turned the doorknob and pushed the door open.

Stepping inside, I made sure to close the door behind me. The rooms were quite dark as the drapes were tightly closed. There was also a cold, dampness which told me the two occupants had been gone for quite some time. While I couldn't do anything about the coldness, I could brighten things up. So I flung the drapes open.

With more light, I was able to survey the main room in better detail. Thanks to Dr. Watson's descriptions in his stories, I had expected untidiness. However, the degree to which things were out of place took me aback somewhat. That a great mind could operate in such conditions was astonishing.

Papers were everywhere, even on the floor. I spotted a pair of house slippers on a shelf in the corner. There were the letters held in place on the mantel by a jack knife. There was a general disarray to the whole place, though I found Dr. Watson's room in reasonable good order.

Mindful of Mrs. Hudson's emphatic instructions, I set to dusting every clear surface. As I worked, I bumped a stack of papers, sending them clattering to the floor. Cringing, I hastily stacked them up. In doing so, my eyes fell on a gorgeous, black violin case.

"The Stradivarius?" I breathed in awe. I'd read every one of Dr. Watson's stories in the Strand, and knew this was a very fine instrument. I was unable to stop myself from opening the lid. The light gleamed off the polished wood. "Beautiful! How you must sing!"

A thump outside the room brought me to my senses. I quickly closed the lid and snatched up the last papers. The door burst open and I spun around. My eyes widened at the sight of a bent over, old man. His grimy clothes were very worn, and his torn hat was low over his face.

"May I help you, Sir?" I asked. "I'm afraid Mr. Holmes is not here."

I had the feeling I was being scrutinized from beneath that old hat. "I'll wait," he croaked out.

"Really, sir, we do not know when Mr. Holmes will be here," I explained, trying to dissuade him. I wondered how he'd gotten in here. I hadn't heard the bell. At any rate, I wasn't about to let him stay! "If you would leave your name, I will be sure Mr. Holmes gets it when he returns."

The man cackled with laughter. "And what if I'm here to see Dr. Watson?" he asked. He moved towards a chair.

"Then, I will tell Dr. Watson," I answered, firmly. I stepped in front of him. "Though, as Dr. Watson is not practicing his medical skills in general, and he has few clients, I doubt you are here for his services."

Again, the man laughed, though this time he seemed delighted. "Is that the door?" he asked abruptly.

I half turned towards the door, but I heard nothing. When I turned back, the man was standing up straight, old hat in hand. I gasped in shock. A pair of intense grey eyes were staring at me. "Really, I believe Watson will be arriving at any moment," Sherlock Holmes stated. "Forgive me for frightening you."

"Frightened? Oh, no! That wonderfully done! As well or better than any actor on stage!" I exclaimed impulsively. I cringed as I belatedly realized I'd broken one of the main rules of a housemaid: never offer your opinion to your employer. "I beg your pardon, sir."

But, he seemed not to have noticed my lapse. Instead, Sherlock Holmes was studying me with interest and delight. "Thank you," he said. He held out his hand. "Those belong to me, I believe."

I know I blushed furiously. "Sorry, Mr. Holmes," I said, handing them over. I gestured to the stack I'd been fixing. "I'm afraid I knocked them over."

"Understandable given the state of my lodgings," Mr. Holmes responded, tossing the papers onto a completely different stack without even glancing at them. "A fire would be in order now I believe. Also, hot water as soon as it can be brought up. And tea in a few hours. Dr. Watson will be needing all three."

"Right away, Mr. Holmes," I said, backing to the door. I bobbed a small curtsy, grabbed my supplies, and made a quick exit. I felt like such a fool! As I went to the kitchen, my only consolation was that I would not be in this role much longer as I would be explaining my story at the first opportunity.

Mrs. Hudson looked up from her mending as I entered the kitchen. "What is it?" she asked immediately.

"Mr. Holmes has requested hot water and then tea, in a few hours," I answered, getting to work on fulfilling the first of those orders.

"Oh, dear," Mrs. Hudson said, looking faintly worried. "I do hope he didn't startle you, Mary. He is an eccentric man."

I smiled. "Oh, he did startle me for a moment, but nothing more," I answered and then explained the circumstances. Thoughtfully, Mrs. Hudson helped fill the buckets as I hauled the water upstairs. There was no sign of Mr. Holmes as I lit the fire. On my way down, I went past a very weary looking man. He nodded, acknowledging me and then went up to Apartment B.

Dr. Watson, then. I wondered what they had been doing that they should arrive separately and the doctor to look so tired. After a moment, I decided it really was none of my business.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: This chapter ended up being a little longer than I expected.**


	4. Chapter 4

Mrs. Hudson sent me out for some fresh baked goods. As I did every time I went out, I stopped at the telegraph office. Ignoring the flirtations from the young men behind the counter, I quickly read the response to my first message. My parents had been there and gone. What puzzled me most was the fact that the duke (my mother loved to move among the best company) mentioned that my parents had sent me several letters during their stay.

I crumpled the message in my hand. Any messages sent to Lynbrook Manor, I understood Martin would have laid his hands on. If he'd been willing to help destroy Lynbrook Manor, what would have stopped him from holding back my parents' letters? But how had every single one of their letters to me, at school, been mislaid?

Extremely puzzled, I made it back to Baker Street. I helped Mrs. Hudson prepare tea and then took it upstairs. I took a deep breath outside Apartment B. Balancing the full tray in my right hand, I turned the doorknob with my left and pushed the door open with my foot.

As I entered the sitting room, I got a good look at both men. Mr. Holmes was as I had expected: tall, thin, black hair going grey, but not look as old as I had been expecting. Dr. Watson seemed an ordinary man, with brown hair, shorter than his companion, and stouter, though with a kindly expression on his face.

"Ah, tea," Mr. Holmes said from where he was studying a paper by the fire. He had a dressing gown on and slippers on his feet. He glanced up briefly.

Looking refreshed and somewhat rested, Dr. Watson jumped to his feet. "And you must be the new housemaid," he said, taking the tray from my hands and setting it on the table. "Holmes was just mentioning you. It's about time Mrs. Hudson took my advice and got off that foot."

"Indeed, sir," I answered. I bobbed a curtsy and started my retreat. Now was not the time to make myself known.

"Our young maid here is an admirer of the stage, Watson," Sherlock Holmes commented. "Did you receive a favorable answer at the telegraph office?"

I froze with my hand on the doorknob. "Holmes, I beg of you not to frighten the girl," Watson responded, sounding very uneasy. "You know what a hard time Mrs. Hudson has had at finding help and I won't have you frightening away the only candidate with your observations of her character."

I smiled as I let my hand drop. "Never fear, Dr. Watson," I said, turning around. The man looked startled, for once again I was breaking the rules of a proper housemaid. Mr. Holmes looked pleased. I suspected he had been trying to get a rise out of me. "I am not frightened by the obvious."

"The obvious?" the doctor asked in bewilderment.

With one hand, I lifted my skirt a fraction of an inch and shook. Tiny bits of paper fell to the floor. "Where else can a person collect such paper but at the telegraph office?" I asked. I frowned at the mess I had made. "And I will clean that up."

"You can hear for yourself that she is originally from America, New York to be exact," Holmes said raising his newspaper, "though she has spent the last-two, is it?- years north of London. Her mother was the American, and her father from London."

Watson looked at me quickly, no doubt wanting to make sure I was not startled. "Quite correct, sir," I said calmly. "Do you have anything else to add to my character?"

"Nothing of importance beyond the fact that you have done very little work as a maid before," he responded. "What's your name?"

Perhaps it was the right time after all. The doorbell rang as I opened my mouth to answer. "Pardon me, sir," I said.

Mentally cursing the inopportune interruption, I hurried down to the front door. I opened it and said a habitual, "May I help you, sir?" to the back of the man on the doorstep. He turned and I nearly slammed the door shut.

"I'm here to see Mr. Sherlock Holmes," the tall man informed me imperiously. He held out his card. "It is a matter of some importance."

I bobbed a curtsy to the man who had tried to destroy my home. While I immediately recognized him, he didn't seem to know me. "Won't you step in, sir, and I will inform Mr. Holmes of your arrival," I said, stepping back. I surveyed him quickly as he moved past me.

He was dressed as a gentleman, though I had my doubts about his having an actual claim to that kind of society. I placed his card on the silver tray and carried it upstairs. Before I entered the apartment, I took my own quick look. The name read: Mr. Ian Barry.

Storing that name for future reference, I stepped through the door and held out the card to Mr. Holmes. "There is a man here to see you, sir," I announced.

Raising his eyebrows, Holmes accepted the card and scanned it over. "Describe our visitor," he requested abruptly, looking up at me. "What sort of man do you take him for?"

I blinked in surprise, and Watson began to protest. "He is dressed as a gentleman, Mr. Holmes," I answered cautiously. "And I do not think he will take no for an answer."

Holmes nodded and dropped the card on the table. "Please bring him up," he instructed, getting to his feet. He glanced back at his companion as he hurried to remove his dressing gown. He shrugged on a morning coat over his waistcoat. "It's not to be a dull day after all, Watson."

Watson groaned, evidently not as delighted by that fact as the detective. I bit back a smile as I hurried out. I remained silent until I reached the bottom of the steps, though Mr. Barry was fidgeting impatiently. "Mr. Holmes will see you now," I informed him.

I turned and went up the stairs as slowly as possible. Barry was on the verge of forcibly pushing me up faster by the time we reached the top. I opened the door and announced, "Mr. Ian Barry, Mr. Holmes."

Briefly, I saw that the room seemed in general good order and both occupants were dressed suitably for visitors. Pushing rudely past me, Barry shut the door in my face. I walked back to and then down the stairs. Then, I was able to creep back up. Three days of going up and down had taught me the parts that remained silent when I put my full weight on the step. I knelt down outside the door and pressed my ear to the wood.

"As you won't have any refreshment, perhaps you would get to the point of your visit," Holmes was asking. "You wish me to find someone for you?"

There was a moment of silence, and I gleefully imagined Barry's look of surprise. "Why, yes," the man finally said. "How-?"

I could practically see Holmes wave a dismissing hand. "Never mind," he told his visitor. "Lay out the facts, if you would."

Barry heaved a sigh. "It is my ward, Mr. Holmes," he said, with a quite convincing tone of worry in his voice. I frowned as I listened to him speak. "She has run away, to London, I believe. We had a quarrel and she left in the middle of the night. I've tried to make my own inquiries, but I discovered nothing."

"How very odd," Watson commented as Holmes remained silent. "Well bred young ladies don't just run away over a quarrel."

As Barry defended his position, I smirked. My own childhood was riddled with failed attempts to run away after a disagreement with my parents. They were, naturally, always right. Did this make me an ill bred young lady then? I considered this, thinking of my current course of action. I was pulled from my thoughts by Holmes speaking up.

"I'm sure if you contact the families of this young lady's friends, you will find her well and unharmed," the detective told him. "I'm afraid I have other, much more pressing, cases to tend to."

Even I could hear the note of boredom in his voice. "I can pay you very well," Barry offered.

"I'm very sorry, Mr. Barry," Holmes said sharply. He paused. "But, give me the name of the girl and I will let you know if I come across anything. What does the young lady look like?"

"Her name is Serena Norton," Barry answered and proceeded to give an exact description of me. "She's an impertinent child, with a very wild imagination that comes from reading too many novels. If you do find her, she will tell a wild tale and I beg you will not listen to her."

My eyes narrowed. "Good day, Mr. Barry," Holmes said without remark on the man's last comments. "Watson, ring for the maid to show Mr. Barry out."

Quickly, I scrambled up and darted to the stairs. I managed to reach the door to the kitchen in time to hear the bell ring. I took a deep breath and turned back. I went up much more slowly than I had come down. I opened the door and waited for instructions.

"Mr. Barry is leaving now," Holmes said, already intent with his newspaper. "Please show him to the door."

I nodded and turned. I went down the stairs. Halfway down, I was shoved aside by the man. Almost angrily, he stalked down and went out the front door. I flinched as he slammed the door shut. Thoughtfully, I returned to the kitchen to explain what had happened to Mrs. Hudson.

Just as my explanation of the visitor ended, the bell from Mr. Holmes' room was ringing. I went back. "Yes, sir?" I inquired as soon as I stepped into the room.

"I believe I was inquiring after your name before we were interrupted," Mr. Holmes said.

Now was my chance to tell him. But, he had just said he would contact Barry if he heard anything of Serena Norton and I had no doubt Mr. Sherlock Holmes was a man of his word. My experience at school was still fresh in my mind. I wanted proof before I laid the matter before him.

"Mary Leigh, sir," I told him.

"Thank you, Mary," he said. "There will be nothing more."

Back out in the hallway, I took a deep breath. I was now even more entrenched in my role. I was no more qualified to solve this than I had been over a week ago but now, I felt determined to give it a try. I was safe, for the moment, and there was no way I could be found by those that sought me.

My mother would have been very proud of me: I was masquerading beneath Sherlock Holmes' nose and he didn't even know it. At least, not yet.


	5. Chapter 5

I had expected my workload to increase with the arrival of Holmes and Watson, but it didn't happen. Mrs. Hudson informed me that now that the two lodgers were back I was not to got near the flat unless ordered, as Mr. Holmes disliked anyone moving papers, even if the dust had accumulated. Also, I was to be ready carry up tea at any time that they called for it.

Those first few days the two men were in and out at all hours. It was as if someone had put up a sign announcing the detective's return for people came every day. It gave me an opportunity to observe Sherlock Holmes. The tall man had so many sides to him. I saw him comfort a distraught old woman seeking news of her grandson, lost in the army. In the same day, I stared as he completely intimidated and looked down on a young man who'd lost a family heirloom at a gambling table.

A strange game sprang up between me and the great detective. Every evening, when I came up to take away the tea things, Holmes would make a comment on what I had done that day. The first night he said, "I see you have been scrubbing floors, Mary. Hard work."

Dr. Watson glared at him reproachfully. "It is," I answered, trying in vain not to smile. "As you see, it's left its mark on my skirt."

Holmes nodded once and returned to whatever he was studying in his chemical tubes. Watson shook his head as I left. As I stood outside the door, I heard the doctor say, "You seem to have an interest in our little maid, Holmes. Any particular reason why?"

"She has a quick mind, especially for a female. She has been raised as a lady but is now in straightened conditions. She is not what she seems, Watson."

He said no more and I frowned as I walked away. Did he suspect me? I put the thought out of my mind. The character I was playing, though more and more of my true self seemed to come peeking through when I was in his presence, merely puzzled the great detective.

After that, before I would go up, I would search for the clues he would see about me and try to get rid of them. Only once did he baffle me by how he knew what I had done that day, which had been baking. My frown of consternation made him laugh out loud as I searched my clothing for any stray speck of flour.

"The smell, Mary," he finally said. "I smelled Mrs. Hudson's muffins when I came in this afternoon. As she is to stay off her foot, I therefore concluded that you were in fact the baker of the day."

"I see," I said slowly, making a note of the new rule. I had been step to step with his deductions, and I suspected I would need to be on my toes to keep up from now on. "I should have thought of that."

"Carry on, Mary," Holmes instructed, turning to a telegram I had brought up.

Also, a few days after Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson had returned, I was singing a French lullaby as I dusted in he hallway. I took a step back and hit someone. Yelping, I spun around to find Mr. Holmes standing behind me. "Was there something I could do, sir?" I asked.

He denied it, in French, and left me to continue my work. And after that, at least once a day the detective would address a remark to me in a foreign language. I knew the usual ones, French, Italian, and German. But the day he made a comment on the weather in Bohemian, and I responded, I knew I was about to get tested on lesser known languages.

I'd picked up many languages as my parents traveled often. There, at least, I matched Mr. Holmes.

It was an exhilarating and engaging time.

* * *

><p>Col. Forest's complaints increased with his neighbors back and it felt like I was incapable of doing a single thing right. Coming on the heels of telegrams denying my parents' presence at several estates, I was feeling very low and frustrated on one evening. Standing in the hallway with the remains of the colonel's tea, I struggled to keep from throwing the tray at the man's door. I wanted to scream and cry and kick my feet like a spoiled child.<p>

"Are you all right, Mary?"

Startled, I looked up to find Sherlock Holmes standing in his doorway, pipe in hand. "I'm fine, sir," I responded, straightening my spine. I took a deep breath. "Is there something you need, sir?"

"I heard the good colonel snapping at you," Mr. Holmes said by way of explanation. He paused. "If you wish, I may be able to help you find a situation more suitable to your talent."

Was that a hint that I needed to trust him with everything? "Mr. Holmes, I am just turned fourteen," I answered tiredly. I managed a slight smile at his almost imperceptible surprise. "I am not old enough or experienced for any position save for that of a housemaid. So I will stumble my way through as best as I can."

He nodded, acknowledging my reasoning. "The colonel really needs to see Watson about his gouty foot. Mrs. Hudson speaks well of you," he commented, changing the subject on me without even pausing for breath. I wondered when he had spoken to the housekeeper. "She says as you are an orphan, you are lonely for your family."

It was not a question, so I made no answer. With the lack of communication from my parents, I was certainly feeling like an orphan. I got the feeling Mr. Holmes was studying me. "I miss my mother's voice," I finally said, breaking the silence. "She used to sing to me."

"As you sing?" Holmes asked, looking strangely interested.

"She was much better than I," I replied honestly. "Good night, Mr. Holmes."

I could feel him watching me as I made my way to the stairs. The conversation had made my homesickness stronger than I could bear. As I entered the kitchen, I suddenly heard the strains of a melody being played on a violin. A smile curved my lips and I set to work with my final chores of the evening.

I don't know exactly how long he played, but I drifted asleep to the sweet sound of the violin. Not only that night, but the following night as well.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Shorter than my other chapters, but the best place to end it.  
><strong>


	6. Chapter 6

Sunday was my day off, marking two weeks I had been at 221 Baker Street. After having a pleasant enough night, I was up very early. I had tea prepared by the time Mrs. Hudson made an appearance. "Has Mr. Holmes been keeping you up at night?" she asked anxiously. "I should have warned you, he insists on playing his violin at all hours of the night."

"Not at all, Mrs. Hudson," I responded cheerfully. "I enjoy music very much."

"Do you have plans, Mary?" the housekeeper asked, apparently surprised by my light-hearted attitude. Before I could answer, her eyes narrowed with suspicion. "You're not meeting a man, are you?"

Horrified, I shook my head firmly. "No!" I denied. "My only plan is to get out and explore London a little and perhaps read a book."

And, of course, stop by the telegraph office, but I doubted that Mrs. Hudson would understand. Before she could question me further, the bell from Apartment B rang. Mrs. Hudson and I exchanged astonished looks. Never had I been summoned there this early in the morning, and clearly neither had Mrs. Hudson.

"You better hurry, Mary," Mrs. Hudson urged. "If the pair of them are up at this hour, they have some place to be in a hurry."

Nodding, I tied on my apron and hurried out of the kitchen. I entered the apartment. Only Dr. Watson was in sight, and he looked as if he had not got much rest. "Ah, good morning, Mary," he said. For the first time, I saw a twinge of pain on his face as he said 'Mary'. I had not considered the fact that I would be sharing the name of his dead wife. "Holmes and I will be away all day. There's no need for Mrs. Hudson to prepare breakfast."

"Of course, Doctor," I responded, my mind spinning. If Col. Forest rose within the next few hours, I could have a good ten hours maybe to myself. "Anything else, sir?"

There was a loud crash from Mr. Holmes' room. Dr. Watson also jumped, so I didn't feel so bad at being startled. "Holmes!" the doctor exclaimed. "What are you doing, man?"

Moments later, Holmes came out. "Are you ready, Watson?" he asked, reaching for his hat and coat. Only as he was shrugging the coat on did he seem to realize I was there. "Mary, I believe the good colonel will be up now. And he will want his breakfast. I'm afraid he will not be in a very pleasant mood."

"Yes, sir," I replied, entwining my fingers together behind my back.

I might have been mistaken, but there seemed to be a mischievous sparkle in those grey eyes. "Enjoy your day, Mary," Holmes told me. He started for the door, and as he passed me, he extended a thin envelope in my direction.

Surprised, I accepted it. Without another word, the detective was out the door and Dr. Watson followed him. I opened the envelope then and there. Inside was a ticket to a music hall.

I laughed in delight. An afternoon of music was just the thing for me. And, it was the very place my mother used to perform.

* * *

><p>It was an afternoon I would not forget. I dressed in the finest outfit I'd brought with me: a white blouse and a hunter green skirt. I counted my coins and found that I didn't have near enough to catch a cab. So, I got directions from Mrs. Hudson and walked.<p>

I made my usual stop at the telegraph office. There were no messages for me, though I did attract the unwanted attention of the boy behind the counter. I decided I would have to change the direction of my search before too long as I was getting nowhere.

It was a cold, windy day, and it was a relief to get inside the music hall. While there were some well to do people in the boxes, it seemed to be the day that most servants took to enjoy a concert. While normally I would have tried to study my companions, my attention was on the concert about to begin.

I left the hall two hours later humming. I felt no matter what came at me, I could handle it. What happened next was entirely my fault. Trying to keep my hat on in the wind, I ran straight into a passing gentleman. "Oh, pardon me-" I started to say. As I met his eyes, I froze.

"You!" John Barry hissed. He reached out and caught my wrist.

"Let me go!" I exclaimed loudly, jerking to get away. The people around me had fallen silent, some even backing away. "Sir, let me go!"

His fingers tightened painfully. "Where is it, you little thief?" he demanded.

So that's the way he was going to play it. Insinuating I was a thief would mean I would have no help from the gathering crowd. Well, it was a good thing I had a father who made sure I could defend myself.

As hard as I could, I brought my foot, specifically my heel, down on the top of his foot. He bellowed in pain. His grip loosened and I jerked free. I turned and took off at a run.

I heard him yelling for someone to stop me. At the corner, I caught the arm of a constable. "Please sir!" I begged, changing my accent. "I ain't done no 'arm and that man grabs me! I ain't that sort of girl!"

The officer's face hardened and stepped to intercept Barry. I took that opportunity to slip away. I dodged through the streets of London to make sure I wasn't being followed. It was growing dark and foggy when I finally reached Baker Street. I let myself in the back and Mrs. Hudson rose from the table to meet me.

"Mary!" she exclaimed. "Are you all right?"

I assured her I was fine and apologized for being late. "A gentleman gave me some trouble," I explained vaguely when she demanded to know what had happened.

Concerned, Mrs. Hudson nodded. It warmed my heart to know that she cared about what happened to me. I went and changed into my uniform since I could hear Col. Forest's bell ringing. Sure enough, the colonel was most unhappy that his evening tea was late. My left wrist was sore from being grabbed, so I wasn't able to hold the tray steady. He snapped at me for being a clumsy and I was quick to leave.

As I was hurrying past, Mr. Holmes called through the door, "A moment of your time, if you please, Mary."

I sighed and entered the room. He and Dr. Watson were sitting in front of the fire. It seemed Mrs. Hudson had kept things in running order despite her injured ankle. I found myself the target of those sharp eyes, and the curiosity of the doctor. "Yes, Mr. Holmes?" I asked.

In an instant, he was standing and by my side. He gently caught my left wrist and pushed my sleeve back. There were five distinct bruises forming where I had been grabbed so tightly. I made no comment as the detective studied the shape of the bruises and Dr. Watson joined us.

"I say, did someone grab you?" the doctor demanded instantly. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, sir," I said in answer to both questions.

Holmes turned his attention to my face. "Did you know the man?" he asked.

I hesitated. I could tell him everything now. Surely he would realize that I was in danger from that man. I couldn't be quite sure, though, so I opted for a compromise. "I did recognize him, sir," I answered. "It was the man who came here the day you returned."

With interest, I watched Holmes' eyes narrow. He let my wrist go and returned to his seat. I let Dr. Watson examine my injury. "I'm afraid I can't recommend anything, save you try not to tax it," the doctor told me apologetically. He turned. "What do you think Holmes?"

"Do you know what this man was after?" Holmes demanded. "Have you ever seen this man before?"

"I don't know what he wanted with me. I did see him once before. At a train station right before I came to London."

Steepling his fingers, Mr. Holmes seemed to go into a deep meditative state. "Good night," I said, nodding to Dr. Watson. I turned and put my hand on the doorknob.

"Mary." I looked over my shoulder at the detective. He was regarding me very seriously. "If you should go out, I recommend you go carefully and never in the dark."

"Yes, Mr. Holmes," I said obediently. I opened the door and paused on the doorstep. "I enjoyed the music this afternoon. Thank you for the gift."

Holmes made no response and I left.

* * *

><p>The following day, I was on edge and I had a feeling I would continue to feel this way for quite some time. I made the daily run to the market for groceries. However, I was not alone. I noticed a small, dirty urchin following me everywhere. It took only a moment for me to realize who, or really what, he was: a member of Holmes' trusted Baker Street Irregulars.<p>

I allowed the boy to follow me all the way back to Baker Street. His presence was reassuring. If anything happened to me, Mr. Holmes would know very quickly.

My experience outside the music hall seemed to set off something. On Tuesday afternoon, as I was leaving the market, I came face to face with 'Johns'. While I came to a halt, his eyes merely passed over me. He walked on and I remained where I was, trying to get my breath back.

It was only when several people bumped into me, and then cursed at my stupidity, did I finally uproot myself from the sidewalk. Thankful I was finished, I rushed back to Baker Street at nearly a run. I left Mrs. Hudson with my purchases and kept going to my tiny room.

Without taking off my coat, I sat on the edge of my bed, wrapping my arms around myself. I sat there for nearly an hour, trying to get my bearings. At least 'Johns' hadn't recognized me. I still was not sure on whose side he was. But to have run into him so soon after Barry was unnerving to say the least.

I realized what a naive, foolish thing I had done when I left Lynbrook Manor. While I had feared for my safety, I had only made things worse by running off on my own. I shouldn't have doubted that Leigh and Mrs. Leigh would be unable to care for and protect me.

My weeks in London had revealed only that my enemy had followed me here. I knew nothing about my parents whereabouts. And when faced with the opportunity to have help from the greatest detective in the world, I had refused, intent on trying it on my own.

I'd been treating this far less seriously than I should have. My first instinct was to run, but that would get me nowhere. I would have to make things right. It was time I trusted Mr. Holmes with my tale.


	7. Chapter 7

"Mary?" Mrs. Hudson called. "Are you all right?"

Slipping my coat off, I stood up and went back to her. "I'm fine, Mrs. Hudson," I said. "Has Colonel Forest rang for tea?"

"No," Mrs. Hudson responded. She was dressed in what I believe was her finest dress and coat. "I'm going out to meet a friend. Would you hail a cab for me?"

Smiling, I hurried to obey. And, when I had a cab waiting, I helped her up the steps. "Everyone is out, Mary," Mrs. Hudson informed me. "I have everything ready for their dinners and tea. Keep yourself inside."

She was still concerned about me. "Yes, Mrs. Hudson," I said. I stepped back and watched the cab set off down the street. I glanced around, but saw no sign of my shadow. If I had lost him on my rush to return to Baker Street, or even if he had managed to follow me back, I knew it would not be long before the boy found Holmes and the detective would be back to demand the truth from me.

In between halfhearted attempts to perform my duties as a maid, I gathered all the telegrams I had received. I added to that my list of homes my parents were visiting. Once Mr. Holmes returned, I resolved to hand it all to him. I felt bad about leaving Mrs. Hudson with no maid, but it was time for my masquerade had gone on too long as it was.

It was nearing six o'clock, and none of 221 Baker Street's residents had returned, which was a little odd. I made myself a cup of tea and sat in the kitchen sipping it. All the sudden there was a low creak in the house that nearly made my heart stop. I held my breath, listening closely.

I didn't hear anything, and when I tried to laugh my uneasiness away, it didn't work. If anything, I became even more frightened. I had the intense feeling of being watched. When the doorbell rang, I nearly screamed. "Fool," I chided, getting to my feet. My heart was still racing when I got to the door.

"Telegram for Mr. Holmes," the boy on the doorstep told me.

Smiling, I accepted the small envelope and handed him a coin. I closed the door and turned to go up the stairs to leave the message for Mr. Holmes. Even now, I felt like I was being watched. I resisted the impulse to lock myself in my room until someone returned, and put my foot on the first step.

A thick hand came over my mouth and nose. "Miss Norton," an oddly familiar voice hissed in my ear. Struggling to get free, to breathe, I tried unsuccessfully to place the voice. "I've been looking for you."

It wasn't 'Johns', or even Barry. Mr. Holmes' telegram fell from my fingers. My mind was fighting panic, running through every self defense lesson my father had taught me. Then, I remembered the advice mother had given me once. I went limp against the man that was slowly suffocating me.

His grip loosened slightly. Reacting, I rammed my elbow into his stomach. He grunted in pain and I twisted free. I sucked in a glorious full breath of air as I scrambled around him. I turned to face my attacker and my eyes widened in shock. "No," I mouthed, not able to actually speak. "You?"

He was tall, dressed as a street worker, but I would have recognized him anywhere. John Simmons, man I had identified as being a murderer at school, here, it would seem, to murder me now. I opened my mouth to scream for help. Surely someone on the street would hear me. But, I couldn't get enough air in my lungs.

Simmons, though I was beginning to wonder if that was really his name, came at me and closed his hands around my neck. He laughed as I clawed at his hands and wrists. I started to see spots in front of my eyes. My mind was in a panic. No one would come in time. I'd be found dead before I had a chance to tell Mr. Holmes the truth. My strength was waning quickly. I heard a door open, though the sound seemed to come from far away. There were voices, but I couldn't distinguish what they were saying. As everything went black, I felt myself falling and then nothing at all.

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><p>A sharp, unpleasant smell filled my consciousness and I snapped my eyes open. The next sensation I felt was pain. My throat hurt, my head hurt, and the rest of my body felt like lead. What had happened? I tried to focus on the face above me and it took a few moments for me to recognize Dr. Watson's face.<p>

"Don't try to talk, Mary," he told me, his tone reassuring. He was still wearing a coat and hat. "Your throat is badly bruised."

And then I remembered: Simmon's hands around my neck, squeezing so tightly. Panic must have shown in my face, because Dr. Watson put his right hand on my shoulder and held my hand in his left. "It's all right, Mary," he said. "Calm down. You're safe. Holmes has gone after him."

I nodded to show I understood. I tried to swallow, but even that simple action caused my bruised throat pain. I realized I was laying on the floor. "Mrs. Hudson's out," the doctor told me, regaining my attention. I nodded again. "Let's try and get you up."

It was only with his help that I was able to stand and get to my room. Dr. Watson left me sitting on my bed, assuring me he would be right back. I felt slow and heavy as I reached over to where my papers lay on my little table. I had just curled my fingers around them when the doctor bustled back in.

"Drink this," he advised, putting the small glass in my hand. I stared blankly at the amber liquid. He guided it up to my lips and I swallowed it with an effort. Not only did my throat hurt from the effort of swallowing, the brandy burned going down. "It'll help with the shock. Lie down, Mary. I'll stay right here until Holmes gets back."

I obeyed his order, and he pulled a blanket up over me. It may have been the combination of shock and the brandy, but I was already feeling drowsy. Still, I couldn't sleep until one thing had been settled. I snaked my hand out from under the blanket.

Frowning, Dr. Watson accepted the handful of papers and looked from them to me. "Holmes," I whispered hoarsely.

"I'll give them to him as soon as he gets back," the good doctor promised.

Satisfied, I closed my eyes. I don't know how long I slept, but eventually I heard voices. Keeping my eyes closed, I listened in.

"-knew she was upset when she got back," Mrs. Hudson said, sounding very upset herself. I estimated them to be right outside my room with the door open. "I never would have left if I'd known something like this would happen! Oh, Doctor, will she be all right? What is this all about?"

"She'll be fine, Mrs. Hudson," Dr. Watson assured her. I'd never realized it before, but he had such a comforting voice. "She shouldn't talk very much for a few days, but she'll be fine. I'm not sure myself what's going on, but Holmes is already looking into it. Why don't you make yourself a nice cup of tea?"

There was a pause. "Yes, and one for you too," Mrs. Hudson declared. I almost smiled. She'd be fine now that she had a mission. "Oh, Mr. Holmes! Did you catch him?"

I held my breath. "No," Holmes answered, sounding very put out. I couldn't hold back a shiver of fear. "I couldn't convince the fine constables I met to chase him and I lost him in the market. How is Mary, Watson?"

How thoughtful of him to ask. "Bruised and shocked; she's resting now," Watson said. "You won't be able to talk to her for some time."

Ah, so that's why Holmes wanted to know. "First thing in the morning, I need to speak with her, Watson," the detective declared. He went on, speaking over Dr. Watson's protests. "She won't have to say much, but this has gone on long enough."

"If we had delayed a moment longer outside, we would have been too late," Watson commented. "Oh. She wanted me to give you these."

I heard the rustle of papers and knew the matter was in Sherlock Holmes' hands. "This explains a great deal," he said after several moments. I heard him walk away.

"The poor girl," Mrs. Hudson said practically over me. "You go along, Dr. Watson. I'll sit with her."

Feeling safe once more, I drifted off to sleep.

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><p><em><strong>AN: I fear we are drawing ever closer to the end of my tale. Hope you're all still enjoying it!**_


	8. Chapter 8

_A bell ringing...Hands squeezing..._

Gasping, I sat up in my bed. It took several moments before I realized I was still in my room at 221 Baker Street. I was safe, though still sore and aching from the attack. Taking a deep breath, I swung my feet to the floor. How long had I been sleeping this time?

I smelled tea and decided to find me some. I got to my feet. While I had been put to bed fully clothed, someone had been kind enough to take my shoes off. My clothes were wrinkled beyond recognition, so I slowly changed into something more presentable and with a high neck to hide my lovely bruises.

Opening my door, I stepped out and made my way to the kitchen. A kettle was whistling, though there was no sign of Mrs. Hudson. I poured myself a cup and sat at the table to drink it. I was starving, but my throat hurt so terribly with just tea, I didn't think I could face something solid.

I went over the events of the previous day. I had many questions. Why had William Smith come after me? Was it because I had accused him of being the murderer he was, or was there some other reason behind it? How had he tracked me to this residence?

"Mary!" Mrs. Hudson's exclamation brought me back to the day. She was standing over me, studying me like a nervous and concerned mother hen. "You're finally up! Its nearly eleven now. How are you feeling?"

"I'm... all right," I said, grimacing in pain and at how hoarse I was. I had to swallow hard between every other word. It was very irritating. "You should not be on your foot like that."

Mrs. Hudson set a tray out and began getting tea things ready. "Mr. Holmes' brother is here," she explained. "I suppose you must have heard him ring the bell. I'll take this up to them and then get you something to eat. I don't want you to do a thing, do you understand me?"

I was already on my feet. "I can do it," I insisted. I'd never read or heard much about Mr. Holmes' brother. Mycroft, I think his name was. If I took the tea up, I would see him and Mr. Sherlock Holmes would know I was up. As soon as this visitor was gone, we would talk. Well, he would talk, and I would manage.

"Oh, very well," Mrs. Hudson said, allowing me the tray. She sank into her seat with a quiet sigh of relief. "My foot is aching me today."

Carrying the tray with steady hands, I went out. I shuddered as I went past the place in the hallway where I'd nearly been strangled to death. I went up the stairs, and entered apartment B.

As soon as Dr. Watson saw me, I thought he was going to jump out of his seat and order me back to my bed. Sherlock Holmes merely glanced me over and then returned his attention to his brother. The man had turned to see what had shocked Dr. Watson so, and I found myself under his scrutiny.

Mycroft Holmes was very much like his brother. He was much larger, though I estimated them to be of the same height. His steely grey eyes were sharp and alert.

I came forward to set the tray on the table. I stepped back, and raised an inquiring eyebrow at Mr. Holmes. Sherlock Holmes, that is.

"If you would, pour the tea, please," the detective requested.

That made Mr. Mycroft Holmes' eyebrows go up, and Watson made a sound of protest. With a short nod, I took my position at the table and began to pour out their tea. I noticed he had not called me 'Mary' as he had in the past. "You were saying, Mycroft?" Sherlock asked.

The large man glanced at me. "She can be trusted," Sherlock assured him. "In fact, she would listen outside my door and then how could we be sure of what she would hear?"

I couldn't help a smile. I'd wondered if he'd ever noticed my eavesdropping and clearly he had. His brother frowned in displeasure. "I need you to locate someone," he said, seeming to accept his brother's word. "I have already had some of my best men searching, and they can find no trace of her."

"Then, we must assume she does not want to be found," Sherlock answered, accepting a cup from me. I'd fixed it from memory: one sugar, no milk.

"She must be found," Mycroft responded, watching me fix Dr. Watson's cup. "She is merely a child. Her parents were promised the girl would be looked after, but she has vanished."

I saw Sherlock Holmes frown. "And why is the young lady so important?"

"Her father came into possession of some serious papers, and has been threatened," Mycroft explained succinctly. "He and his wife have already been put under protection. Their daughter was at school, but has since left there. We know she came to London, but that is all."

My hand shook slightly as I held out Dr. Watson's cup. It was me he was searching for. It had to be! My parents were all right!

"Does the young lady know she is in danger?" the doctor asked. "Why did she come to London alone?"

Mycroft lifted his shoulders. "Two sugars," he instructed me. "No one knows what the girl's intentions were."

"Her name?" Sherlock asked.

I braced myself for it as I held out his cup. "Serena Mary Norton," Mycroft answered. "Here is a photograph of her. I am told one other identifying mark of her is that she is as fine a singer as her mother."

He passed it over right under my nose. It was at least a year old. Sherlock gave it only a cursory glance before handing it over to his companion. "Naturally she would be," he commented. "Please fetch the small photograph you will find in the top drawer of my desk," he instructed, looking at me.

There was amusement in his eyes and tone. With a nod, I went to his desk and extracted the photo case from within the drawer. I brought it back and held it out to him. "Hand it to my brother," he ordered. "Would you say the young lady looks very much like her mother?"

Ah, the famous photograph my mother had left behind when she had fled London. Mycroft barely glanced at it. "You guessed," he accused.

"I did not," Sherlock said with dignity. "You are not the first who has requested I find Miss Serena Norton. I had already done my research and discovered the young lady's mother was the former Irene Adler. As such, you must know Miss Norton has a quick, clever mind."

A compliment from the great Sherlock Holmes? Whatever could he be up to?

"Have you found her then?" Mycroft asked swiftly.

"She is safe," the detective answered, his eyes glancing at me once. Mycroft followed his look and frowned, evidently assuming that I should not hear the location, even though I had been allowed to hear this much. "What do you make of the maid, Mycroft?"

"Really, Holmes," Watson protested that. "Haven't you done enough of that to the girl?"

Again, I was the target of Mycroft's sharp eyes. My time here had given me experience, and I held his gaze firmly. "She is an unlikely one," he determined after a moment. "Intelligent, and alone in the world. She has not been getting much sleep."

I smiled. "You may go now," Sherlock ordered. And I heard the underlying order: no listening at the door. I nodded once and left the room. My disguise had held up once more. I wondered why Sherlock hadn't told him, then and there, the truth. I had a feeling I was soon to find out.

* * *

><p>When I had come back down, the housekeeper had a breakfast of broth and other items of soft consistency for me. It was, maybe, a half hour before the bell in the kitchen rang. Mrs. Hudson moved to get up, but I waved my hand at her. I pointed at myself and then upstairs.<p>

"Mr. Holmes wants you to explain what happened?" Mrs. Hudson translated. I nodded. "Make sure he doesn't keep you up too long."

I smiled back and returned to Mr. Holmes' rooms. He and Watson were alone, and I presented myself before them. I put my hands behind my back and waited.

"You've done it very well," Holmes finally said after several seconds. I smiled. "I congratulate you on finding a role that most would never find you in."

That made me and Dr. Watson frown. "I said nothing as you clearly didn't want us to know," Holmes went on. "It was your fear at Ian Barry's arrival and then your reticence immediately afterward that tipped me off. And, as I told Mycroft, I completed my research, and discovered the truth."

"What truth?" Dr. Watson demanded.

Mr. Holmes looked at me inquiringly. "Shall I tell the story for Dr. Watson?" he asked.

I nodded. "Nearly four weeks ago, Miss Serena Norton, daughter of the former Irene Adler and Godfrey Norton, was sent home from boarding school," Holmes began. Though uninvited, I took a seat opposite him and Watson. "She was sent home for a very interesting reason: accusing a man of being a murderer."

"She didn't!" Watson exclaimed.

"She did, and she was quite right. However, that is not important. Our Miss Norton arrives at her current home, Lynbrook Manor, to find it vandalized. And on the night of her arrival, intruders attempt to kidnap her and burn the home down. Do I have it right so far?"

Watson turned his gaze to me in astonishment. Again, I nodded. "Coupled with the fact that she has not heard from her parents in over three months, Miss Norton decides to take the matter to someone who can solve the mystery," Holmes continued. "And only the best will do for her."

Though my throat ached, I laughed out loud. "However, once she arrives in London, having left her caretakers behind, Miss Norton does not find the detective at home," Mr. Holmes said, ignoring my outburst. "It is then she makes the drastic decision to join the London working force."

"A young lady does not become a servant," Watson objected, looking at me uneasily.

"She does when she has little money, and no friends to speak of," Holmes responded calmly. "So, where does a just turned fourteen year old young lady go? She takes the first available maid position she can and discovers exactly what she has been taking for granted all her life."

Put so baldly, his words make me sound like a spoiled child, but I can't deny the fact.

"She lasts a week, and is pursued by the eldest son of the house," Holmes said, and my eyebrows go up. How did he find that out? "Again, she returns to 221 Baker Street. Only this time, she takes on the temporary position of maid in the house under the name of Mary Leigh, her middle name and the name of her family's housekeeper."

"Miss Norton?" Watson asked me.

My eyes stay on Holmes, though I nodded. "She intends to tell her tale at the first opportunity, and endures the extreme temper of the other tenant," the detective went on. "Before she can explain to me, Ian Barry arrives and requests I find her. So, irrationally, she chooses not to trust us."

I shrugged in answer. "She searches for her parents' whereabouts on her own," Holmes told Watson. "The only responses she receives are either her parents had been and gone, having sent her several letters, or they never arrived.

"In the meantime, she runs into the very man she was hiding from, Barry, nearly getting caught. A mere few days later, she runs into another feared man in the market. Clearly, she is followed from here and is attacked. She decides, at long last, to entrust her case to me. Is that everything?"

"Not quite," I answered, speaking up for the first time. My hoarse voice pains me, and Dr. Watson frowns at me. "The murderer?"

Holmes looked momentarily puzzled and then he nodded in understanding. "The one you accused? What about him?" he asked. I pointed to my throat in answer. "He followed you here?"

A quick lift of my shoulders showed my own ignorance of the matter. "I will let Mycroft know," Sherlock said. "In the meantime, you are to stay here until Mycroft finishes his arrangement."

"Why?" I asked.

"Why?" Sherlock repeated.

"Why did they come after me?" I asked. I put my hand to my swollen throat. Talking hurt, very much, but the case was not done yet. "Who took my letters? What is this all about?"

The detective paused. "I do not know the exact details," he answered. "Mycroft only said your father discovered some dangerous papers. I can only theorize that the man who attacked you yesterday, whom you identified as a murderer, was watching you and took your letters to keep you isolated."

I considered that and nodded in agreement. "Why did you choose the life of a maid?" Dr. Watson asked, his tone resigned. If I persisted in talking, at least he would have his questions answered.

"As she said to me, Watson, she is 'just turned fourteen,'" Holmes responded for me. I smiled. "What other position could she take? She is too young to be a governess, and I doubt she would be very good at that were she the proper age. She has no experience for anything else."

"Why didn't you tell your brother in the first place?" the doctor demanded. "You knew what he was here for."

"I wanted to see if he would see it for himself," Sherlock said, seeming satisfied. "I imagine that by now he will have worked it out. Also, he would have told Serena's parents of what happened, and it would have upset them unnecessarily."

I frowned at him. "I have to explain?" I asked apprehensively. My parents were not going to appreciate my independent course.

"Yes," Holmes answered. "It is your story. You may want to rehearse with Mrs. Hudson."

"Yes, Mr. Holmes," I said wearily, getting to my feet. I hesitated. "Thank you."

"It has kept the boredom at bay," he answered, already reaching for his pipe.

I left the room thoughtfully. All would be taken care of and I would soon be reunited with my parents. It wasn't until I reached the main floor that I paused. How was I supposed to explain this to dear Mrs. Hudson?


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: OK. I'm posting early since I'm not sure how long I'll have internet access. A tree branch took out a line and its only been temporarily patched up. So, it may take a couple days before I can answer any reviews.**

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><p>It was a difficult conversation that I had with Mrs. Hudson. Thankfully, before I was halfway through trying to explain, Dr. Watson came into the kitchen and took over. He didn't say what brought him down in the first place, but I suspected Mr. Holmes had taken pity on me and sent the doctor down.<p>

Mrs. Hudson, disbelieving at first, accepted the story without too much fuss. She'd been to see her sister the evening before, and her niece was in need of a position. Everything would work out well for everyone, it seemed, though she said she would miss me.

Two nights later, Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson escorted me into the Savoy Theatre. As we passed through the entryway, I was amazed to read on a poster the name: Irene Adler. "My mother is singing tonight?" I asked, looking up at the tallest of my escorts. A silky wrap, loaned to me by Mrs. Hudson, hide my throat.

He said nothing, just ushered me up to a box. Mr. Mycroft Holmes was already there. And so was my father.

"Papa!" I exclaimed delightedly as he rose. He hugged me tightly. "I was so worried about you!"

My father stepped back. "What's wrong with your voice?" he demanded, looking me over. I'd thought two days of rest would have restored my voice, but apparently I was wrong.

"The concert is about to begin," Mycroft spoke up then. "As you all insisted I be here, I will at least enjoy it."

I was glad of the distraction, and sat next to my father, my arm linked with his. The lights dimmed around the theatre and then my mother was on the stage. Looking every bit the lady she was, she began the concert, singing an Italian opera song.

Though I begged, Father refused to let me go backstage during the intermission. He claimed I would be a distraction for my mother. So, I had to wait until the end and my father had led the way to her dressing room before I could finally hug my mother and assure her I was all right.

Not that she believed the last part. Holding me back, she pulled the wrap off. "What is this?" she demanded, spying the fading bruises on my neck. She lifted my left wrist and glared at the bruises there. She turned angry brown eyes on the Holmes'. "You said she would be protected! Is this how you protect?"

"She would have been protected if she hadn't of run away to be a maid," Mycroft defended.

And once again, I felt like a child as my mother and father glared at me. In the end, Dr. Watson took pity on me once again and explained, though I think it was more to save my throat from over use. It was very late by the time it was done.

"We have already located and arrested Ian Barry," Mycroft said, looking wearily at his pocket watch. "Simmons, though that was merely one of his aliases, was arrested earlier this morning and admitted to everything."

"What were they after?" Watson asked curiously. I could see his fingers twitching, like he wanted to write it down. I wondered how long before this tale would join the rest of the cases published in the Strand. "They seemed to go to a great deal of trouble."

"Classified," Mycroft said before my father could answer. "And it will remain so."

My father nodded in agreement. "We should go," he said. He held his hand out to the other men. "Thank you for what you have done."

"Good evening, Mr. Sherlock Holmes," Mother said with a smile, extending her hand to the detective. "We were not at odds this time, were we?"

"I am pleased to say, we were not," Mr. Holmes answered, taking her hand. He turned his attention to me. "A pleasure, Miss Norton."

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes," I answered, sincerely. "I look forward to our paths crossing again."

* * *

><p>My family returned to Lynbrook Manor the very next day. Leigh had finally hired more servants and the home looked as it used to. Mrs. Leigh welcomed us back enthusiastically, and scolded me for the rest of the day.<p>

A week passed, and I found myself unusually bored. My father had yet to straighten things out with the school, and my school books failed to hold my attention. Normal life, it seemed, had become very dull.

And then, a package arrived for me from London.

When Leigh handed it to me in the library, I stared at it in astonishment. The return address was 221B Baker Street. As my mother looked on, I eagerly tore the paper open. There was no letter, only a stack of slim pamphlets. The first read: Monograph of Secret Writings: 160 Separate Ciphers Analyzed by Sherlock Holmes.

I laughed out loud.

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><p><strong>AN: Thanks to everyone who Favorited, Alerted, and/or reviewed my story! I'm glad you enjoyed!  
><strong>


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